


How Tony Stark Adopts a Cat

by picturecat



Category: Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Cats, Established Relationship, M/M, Tony Stark and Kittens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-24
Updated: 2017-01-24
Packaged: 2018-09-19 14:36:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9445760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/picturecat/pseuds/picturecat
Summary: Tony Stark takes a lunch break, shares his food, and adopts a cat. In his defense, it's a very good cat.





	

Tony notices the cat on his lunch break on Thursday. It’s too thin, obviously hungry, and staring straight at his turkey wrap with sapphire-blue eyes.

And, well. Tony’s not that hungry anyway.

He pulls the meat out of his wrap, clicking his tongue at the kitty, and still it just stares. It’s not until Tony dangles a slice of turkey over the edge of the bench that the cat pads quickly over and snatches the meat from his hands.

“Good, isn’t it?” Tony asks. “Yeah. Enjoy my lunch.” The cat ignores him completely, which Tony can’t blame it for. That turkey was from his favorite deli—everything they made was absolutely divine.

It’s gone in short order, however, and the cat is looking up at him with the saddest, neediest blue eyes Tony has ever seen. It knows he has more. It can probably smell it, dammit. Tony wavers.

The cat meows loudly, startling a nearby bird into flight. Tony snorts.

“Yeah, okay,” he says, tossing the cat the rest of the turkey. “Nice pipes, loudmouth.”

That turkey is gone just as quickly, and then Tony really is out. Not that the cat believes him. It hops up onto the bench, nosing at the remains of Tony’s wrap, and Tony pulls it away. “Pretty sure cats shouldn’t eat spicy mustard,” he says apologetically, and reaches out with his other hand to pet its fur.

The cat sniffs his hand, but quickly loses interest when it doesn’t have food in it. Tony strokes along its side, feeling matted spots in the fur, and bones where he shouldn’t.

It’s a very pretty cat, even half-starved and a little dirty. It’s one of those Asian cats—Siamese, he thinks, but not purebred. It lets Tony pet it without complaint, sitting up straight on the bench and watching passersby with alert, bright eyes. Tony watches the cat.

It takes off when someone passes them walking their dog, and that’s the end of Tony’s extended lunch break.

* * *

Tony comes back the next day with a can of gourmet kitty food and another turkey wrap. He sits on the bench and watches expectantly for about five minutes.

The cat doesn’t show. Maybe it was just passing through the area? Tony stifles his disappointment with a big bite out of his wrap.

And lo, the kitty appears.

It apparently recognizes a friendly face—or at least the turkey wrap—because it beelines straight for Tony, leaping into his lap with nary a “how do you do” and trying to snag a bite of Tony’s wrap.

“Do you recognize personal space?” Tony laughs, holding the wrap away from the cat. It follows the movement of his hand with its head.

“No, come on, you have your own food this time,” Tony says, grinning, and tucks his wrap away in the bag so he can open the cat food can.

They eat lunch together in companionable quiet, watching joggers and birds. When the cat has licked the bowl clean, it licks its chops, yawns, and settles into Tony’s lap for a nap.

Tony is absolutely charmed.

He stays there, petting the cat’s soft fur and feeling it purr gently, for as long as he can. And a bit longer, apparently, as Pepper calls to angrily brandish paperwork at him over the phone.

“Sorry, kitty,” Tony says, and eases the cat off his lap, brushing fur off his pants.

When he looks back the cat has stretched out in his spot, and is watching him leave.

* * *

“So there’s this cat,” Tony is saying, and Steve cracks open an eyeball.

“A cat,” Steve says muzzily, and tugs the blanket up over Tony’s shoulders.

“Yeah,“ Tony says. “At that park around the block from the tower. I went outside for my lunch break so I could shut you down next time you started making noises about me not getting enough sunshine, only there was a cat there. It stole my turkey wrap.”

Steve is mostly drifting back to sleep at this point. He can’t help it? He’s got Tony half-sprawled over him and talking lowly into the pillow near Steve’s ear, and a warm thick cocoon of blankets all around them both. It’s so comfortable.

However.

“Tony, please do not try to sue a stray cat,” Steve mumbles.

“I wasn’t going to!” Tony says, indignant, and he sounds so awake. “I’ve been bringing it food, because I’m a philanthropist. _Phi-lan-thro—_ “

“Go to sleep,” Steve groans, and rolls over on top of Tony to squish the talkiness out of him. Tony makes an exaggerated wheezing sound, and Steve smiles where his face is smooshed into Tony’s skin.

“You’re crushing me,” Tony chokes out, fake gagging.

“Oops. Sorry,” Steve hums, and kisses whatever part of Tony is closest. It tastes like his shoulder.

Tony’s “choking” turns into laughter, quiet and warm against Steve’s ear. “Alright, alright, message received,” he snorts, and pushes at Steve’s shoulder. “I’ll shut up.”

Steve slides off next to him, leaving only his arm spread across Tony’s torso. He props himself up on his elbow for a second to fix the blankets around them, and feels the weight of Tony’s gaze on his face, watching him as he fiddles with the duvet and the throw that Thor knitted for them.

He finishes settling the blankets and just leans on his elbow, smiling down at Tony in the dark. Tony watches him, unblinking, for several long moments, and then cups his hand at the back of Steve’s neck to tug him back down.

Steve goes. He pillows his head next to Tony, and curls his arm around Tony’s chest, and closes his eyes in the dark soft stillness of their bedroom. “Goodnight,” he says softly.

He feels the shift as Tony turns his head, and then Tony’s lips press against Steve’s skin, soft, just for a second. “Goodnight,” Tony whispers back.

Steve is very nearly asleep when Tony speaks again. “It was a nice cat,” he murmurs, and Steve drifts into sleep.

* * *

“Pepper, do you want a cat?” Tony asks, and Pepper holds up a finger.

“No, Dan, we absolutely can _not_ do that. I don’t—no, don’t interrupt me—I know it would make your life easier. I don’t care. You should have been on this a week ago. Either fix it yourself or hand it over to Atwal.” And she hangs up.

“It’s always nice to watch you yell at people other than me,” Tony grins.

“Yeah, it’s a nice change for me, too,” Pepper says dryly, and leans back in her chair. “Now what did you want?”

“There’s this stray cat I’ve been feeding on my lunch breaks. Really pretty, very sweet, entirely too demanding—you’d get along great,” Tony says hopefully.

Pepper dashes his hopes. “Tony, I can’t get a cat,” she sighs.

“But it’s a good cat, Pepper,” Tony wheedles. “The best cat. And I don’t want to bring it to a shelter; they have such high kill rates and hardly anyone adopts grown cats.”

“It’s touching to see you so concerned, but I still can’t. Socrates doesn’t share well.”

Tony stares. “What?”

Pepper raises an eyebrow. “My pug. Socrates. You called him terrifying and then fell asleep with him on your face, remember?”

“Oh!” Tony says. “Oh. In my defense—“

Pepper holds up a hand. “I’m sure somebody will be happy to give this cat a home, Tony. Why don’t you go pick it up, and see if one of the engineers wants it?”

Tony balks. “The engineers can have a cat when they can manage basic rocket science,” he grouches. “No, we’ll ask around PR—they do the _real_ work here.”

“Tony, just because you didn’t like the output on the NAC project—“

“Got to go, Pep, I have a lunch date,” Tony grins, and dashes off before she finishes rolling her eyes.

The cat is waiting for him on the bench this time, and watches him open the cat food with wide, hungry eyes.

It eats like it’s starved, as usual, and pays no mind to Tony stroking the fur down its back until it has licked the can clean. Then, belly full, it settles into Tony’s lap to doze off.

“Ah, I’m afraid not, little blue,” Tony says gently, easing the cat upward. It stares up at him, unimpressed, and Tony reaches over beside him to unlock the new pet carrier he’d brought with him.

“Can you go in here for me?” he murmurs, nudging the cat towards the carrier.

It balks, jerking away from the carrier, and meows long and pitiful, and Tony doesn’t need to hear it twice to know that’s a _no_.

“Okay, okay, that’s fine,” he soothes, cradling the cat in his arms, and he can feel its heartbeat rapid with alarm underneath his hands.

“You poor thing,” he coos, and eases to his feet cautiously.

But the cat doesn’t bolt or try to run, just tucks its paws over the crook of Tony’s elbow and lets him hold it.

Tony goes all melty inside. “How do you not have a home?” he laments. “You are so good. You are such a good cat. Come on, let’s meet JARVIS.”

Because of course he can’t just take it back to work. Pets aren’t allowed in the office, and anyway, he just has to introduce it to Steve.

He leaves the carrier sitting on the bench. He doesn’t need it.

* * *

“I see you have a companion, Sir,” JARVIS says as soon as Tony steps in the elevator. The cat’s ears prick.

“See, I can make friends,” Tony says. “JARVIS, this is cat, cat, this is JARVIS. He is a merciful god, don’t worry.”

“Thank you, Sir,” JARVIS says. “I believe your new friend is shedding on your bespoke suit.”

“That’s okay, it’s only Steve’s third favorite,” Tony says, and quietly continues to stroke the cat.

He hears a strange, soft sound, and shifts his hold on the cat, and suddenly—he can feel the cat purring against him, soft rumbly warmth cuddled up against his shoulder, and feels unaccountably honored.

“Tony?” Steve says, and Tony steps out of the elevator. “You—is that the cat?”

“Steve, it’s _purring_ ,” Tony urges, and steps close enough that Steve can hear. “And it didn’t want to go in the pet carrier I bought but that’s okay because it let me hold it like this the entire way back and did not complain or anything. And now it’s purring, _listen_.”

Steve quirks a smile, huffing, and reaches out to splay his broad palm over the cat’s side—gently of course. And the cat slits its eyes open and watches him for a few seconds, but has no other objection to being petted.

“It’s pretty sweet,” he admits.  “Let me guess—“

“We need to get flea medication,” Tony blurts. “And get it groomed—“

Steve takes the cat from him and checks the sex. “Her,” he corrects.

“And get _her_ groomed, because she’s entirely too pretty to have her fur dirty like that, and she needs about 200 solid meals.”

Tony hovers, watching, as Steve pets the cat and scritches its chin, watching it with a fond little grin. The cat purrs on a long exhale, and Steve’s smile widens.

“Alright,” Steve allows, and turns that fond grin on Tony. “Did you have a name picked out when you brought her here?”

“Not exactly,” Tony says. “You still have power of veto. Really, though?”

“Why not?” Steve asks, agreeable. “It’s not like we don’t have the space.”

“I can’t believe you put up with my crazy,” Tony admits, watching Steve watch the cat and fairly bursting with happiness.

Steve sets the cat down.

“I like your crazy,” he says, and kisses Tony slowly. “That is why I married you.”

* * *

 

“Her name is Blue,” Tony says. The cat, fur groomed and gleaming, sniffs at the corner of the couch, then stretches on her hind legs to use it as a scratching post. The leather shreds and catches. Tony watches fondly.

Steve turns to look at him, unimpressed. “You mean like that raptor in the dinosaur movie?”

“Maybe. No,” Tony says. “Blue like her eyes. And like her perfect pretty collar.”

Steve snorts. “I don’t think she likes it.”

“What?” Tony frowns. “Why? I called her that earlier.”

“Not the name—the collar,” Steve corrects, and nods at the cat. “Look.”

And as Tony watches, Blue ducks her head and rubs her paws over the collar, pushing it up and jingling the little bell. It pushes her fur up, but she keeps going, pulling at it with her paws until it slips over her ears.

And then she shakes it off, and leaves it on the floor.

Tony gapes. “My princess is a genius,” he says.

“I don’t think that’s necessarily a sign of genius—“ Steve starts.

“She is the smartest cat. We’re soulmates,” Tony insists. “…Although I guess we’re gonna have to get her chipped.”

Steve rubs the back of his neck. “Did it this morning,” he admits, ears flushing.  “We went to a vet while you were at work. She’s already been spayed, too.”

Tony kisses Steve, because he’s a big believer in positive reinforcement. 

**Author's Note:**

> the cat described is my beloved childhood pet. she's absolutely deserving of a life spent being pampered by a billionaire


End file.
